Walk with me

It’s time for a ramble through a jumble of thoughts.

I’m currently reading an atrocious series, but morbid curiosity drives me on.  I’m self-conscious checking the books out of the library, but I have placed myself under a book buying moratorium.  It embarrasses me to admit it is the Left Behind series.  I think these books had potential that was lost with very mediocre writing.  How fun would it have been to have someone like Stephen King handle the story?  Of course they would have been boycotted on principle. If the characters weren’t flat, the conversation so forced, and the actions so hokey, they would be much more interesting.  Yet, like most of Jane Austen I soldier on to see what all the noise is about.  The redeeming quality?  The writing is so light that one novel only takes a couple of hours and can be stopped and started with no loss.

I find it highly embarrassing to be applauded for using the restroom by my sons.  “Wow mom! You did a great job peeing.”  I hate that I have to be so careful and take them into the stalls with me. I know my life will not always revolve around excretory actions, but some days I truly miss privacy.

I’m currently procrastinating.  I should be writing about turkey thawing, cornbread baking, and possibly a reminder to watch the teens if alcohol is being served.   I should also be looking around the local blogosphere, but  I already spent far too long on that this morning even though the output was small.  I should also be writing frugal bloggers and inviting them to join the aggregator on Home Ec 101, but I think I’m going to wait until Tim is home to get the children out of my hair.

I canceled my gym membership, yesterday.  The childcare room is just too gross to have to pay $3 a visit to use. Nine dollars a week on top of the monthly fee is just obnoxious. I also don’t like my kids watching TV, so I guess I have to suck it up and figure out how to do it at home.

I find it a little sad that it took three tries to be immediately and completely in love with one of my babies.  Yes, I just broke one of motherhood’s big taboos.  I own up to not have mooshy gooshy feelings about squalling, screaming bundles of need.   I love my boys, but there is a world of difference between cranky and content babies.  I thought Mark was “good” after my experience with Aidan’s colic.  It took Ellie to show me how sweet it could be.  Maybe it’s partly due to knowing she’s the last.  Whatever it is, I’m enjoying the feeling, although  I’m sure I’ll pay for it in her teen years.

Uh oh, the boys are giggling.  Any parent will agree my immediate attention/intervention is probably needed.